


Something Special

by FrivolousSuits



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 11:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12769968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrivolousSuits/pseuds/FrivolousSuits
Summary: When Harvey Specter completes his first year as a Pearson-Hardman associate, he treats himself to dinner at a fancy restaurant and a date with a gorgeous model, whom he regales with stories of his extraordinary legal prowess.He doesn't expect his busboy to start fact-checking him.





	Something Special

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Marvey Fic Challenge #78- "haute cuisine."

To celebrate the start of his second year as a Pearson-Hardman associate, Harvey Specter treats himself out to a perfect night– Jessica’s gotten him a table at the fanciest new restaurant in town, and he’s gotten himself a fantastic date. June’s a model, not exactly the brightest bulb, but then again he didn’t ask her out tonight for her scintillating intelligence.

“This month, I’ve gotten lucky enough to handle three different matters where our firm’s work has been featured in the _Wall Street Journal_ ,” he tells her. “I’d tell you more, of course, but the information is almost entirely privileged.”  


“Thank you–” June briefly addresses the busboy clearing away her dinner plate. Then she turns back to Harvey. “That’s so amazing, Harvey! You must be really brilliant.”

“Oh no, it’s not that special,” he says, because he’s learning to be somewhat subtler with his self-promotion.

Still, he can almost see the cartoon hearts in her eyes. “So, like, what do you do on a normal day?”

“There is no normal day–” he pauses briefly as the busboy refills his glass of water– “in corporate law. But today, for example, I was busy filing papers with the Supreme Court.”

Her eyes bug out. “You’re a Supreme Court lawyer?”

“. . . You could say that.”

“Oh my god, you’re even cooler than I thought–”

Now filling June’s glass, the busboy lets out a sudden chuckle.

Harvey’s eyes snap up to him. “Is there a problem?”

“No–” the busboy says, eyes wide– “the ‘Supreme Court’ thing just . . . surprised me.”  


Harvey raises an eyebrow. “You don’t believe I was filing papers at the Supreme Court?”

“No,” he says. “I bet you were. I just really doubt it’s the same Supreme Court she thinks.”

June pouts. “What do you mean?”

“You think he’s talking about the Supreme Court of the United States in Washington D.C., right?”  


June gives an earnest nod.

“Well, I’d bet all my tips tonight that he was actually filing with the Supreme Court of the State of New York–”

“I was,” Harvey interrupts, attempting damage control. “I was indeed at the Supreme Court of New York.”  


“And that’d still be impressive,” the busboy tells June, “if not for the fact that the Supreme Court is actually what New York’s trial courts are called, and they are essentially the lowest court that the cases they handle can go through.”

June blinks. “So . . . it’s not special?”

“Well, there’s a Supreme Court in every county of New York, and there’s 62 counties, so . . .” The busboy shrugs. 

“Okay,” Harvey says, “I admit the Supreme Court thing is somewhat less awesome than it sounds, but my record is still quite impressive.”

“Three Pearson-Hardman matters this month that were mentioned in the _Wall Street Journal_ , right?”

“What–” Harvey sputters– “how did you know I work for Pearson-Hardman?”

“You’ve dropped the name six times tonight, just when I’ve been around,” the busboy says without missing a beat. “Anyway, the only three matters you could be referring to are the Trident case, which your side lost, the Aristopoulos deal, where your client ended up selling their assets for at most 75% of their true worth, and the Stellar case, which you valiantly won, cutting five thousand hard-working Americans off from their well-earned pensions.”

“I wasn’t responsible for the central strategies on any of those matters–”

“Oh, so when you say you ‘handled them’ you actually just proofed briefs and did grunt work like every other associate in this town?”

Harvey’s about to retort, but then the busboy sprints away, called to another table. June’s staring down at her phone.

“Sorry,” she says. “A friend of mine just called me in for . . . an emergency at work. A new shoot.”

“But–”  


"I gotta go.”

She hurries away from the table, leaving him alone with the remnants of his steak.

Harvey sighs, drains his water glass, and waits for the busboy to return.

“She left,” Harvey says when he does.

The busboy flushes. “Oh. God. I got carried away.”

“You certainly did.” Then he looks down at his plate and admits, “So did I.”  


“Takes a show-off to know one, huh?”

There’s an awkward pause.  


“Anyway,” the busboy says, “sorry about ruining your night.”

Harvey huffs. “I don’t need apologies that aren’t backed up by actions.”

“What kind of action are you interested in?”

Harvey turns his eyes back up and really takes in the busboy for the first time. He’s young, blond, and in his blue eyes Harvey sees a scintillating intelligence.

“I mean,” the busboy continues, “I’ve injured you, and we can negotiate some sort of settlement offer.” His smile turns cheeky. “You could get a replacement, maybe, for whatever you were looking for with her.”

“I’m afraid I can’t necessarily disclose exactly what I was looking for, not in a public place.”

Harvey receives a full grin for that, and then the busboy slips him a piece of paper with his number on it.

It’s a very nice new restaurant, but Harvey calls for the check and leaves as quickly as he can. No, he wouldn’t like to hear about the daily gelato, nor the seasonal mousse. You see, he’s craving something special for dessert.  



End file.
